The poet
- Reads 33
- Votes 7
- Parts 4
Ongoing29m
Last published Sun, Sep 25, 2016
I tapped my pencil on the desk. Waiting for Mr. Anderson to give us the assignment.
"For this week's assignment I want you to write a poem about yourself." He explained with too many hand motions.
I chucked lightly and rolled my eyes, at the thought.
I just continued to doodle in my notebook. I saw his staring from the corner of my eye.
I turned and looked at him.
"What!" I whispered yelled.
"Nothing." He said smiling and looking at the ground.
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𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐏𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞
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Something didn't feel right. I looked around my room slowly; cautiously; taking everything in and trying not to feel too nervous. Perhaps Lure was in my room right now, watching me, silently laughing to himself. I didn't doubt it. I slipped off my bed and walked around, hugging my waist, and tilted my head. I felt my rough ponytail slide against the back of my neck and over my shoulder as I moved. "Lure?" I hissed, "Lure, are you there?" I wandered around a little, for some reason feeling scared. But why? It was only Lure. He wouldn't hurt me, would he? "Okay, Lure. Quit it. I know it's you. Who else would it-" I stopped, startled, when I heard a strange sound that made me cringe. It was like fingernails being dragged across a chalkboard. I whipped around and came face-to-face with my mirror. Immediately, I saw the difference. Various scratches were displayed across the glass, forming words. It looked as if claws had written the words in the mirror. "Deepest apologies, but it was fun." (All credit goes to my sister, who wrote this when she was in the twelfth grade)
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